Darkness
by StillWaters1
Summary: "I gently tucked his Padawan braid behind his ear and away from the wound before placing a hand under his chin and turning him to face me. I had to fight not to cry out. The young man in front of me was not my ObiWan."


Title: Darkness

Author: Still Waters

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any of its characters. I am simply borrowing them to tell their story.

* * *

Hi there, and welcome to my first Star Wars story. I've done plenty of stories in my head, but I wrote this short one out in an hour or so and decided to post it. I am somewhat new to the universe, so forgive any mistakes with technology or language. This story revolves around a story I wrote for Farscape, which is found in the middle here….enjoy.

~ indicates contents of a letter being read

This is not beta'd, so any mistakes are all my fault

* * *

I am a Jedi Master. While my entire life has been built around a code that seeks to bathe those who recite it in light, I know the other side. I have been taught to recognize the darkness, to see the terrifying blackness, to hear the deafening roar of anger and hatred, to feel the frigid fingers of obscurity clawing at my back and mind. I know darkness……

So why did I never see it in Obi-Wan?

The day everything changed began like any other. I woke up to find Obi-Wan sitting on the balcony of our shared quarters, leaning gently on the railing, the morning sun drowning the dark shadows dawn had painted on his face. He sensed my approach and turned to greet me with a small smile. "Good morning Master," he said softly.

"Good morning Obi-Wan," I returned the greeting, stepping onto the balcony and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. A barely perceptible shiver ran through him, and I took his robe from the chair and draped it over his arm. "Why don't we go inside before you get sick?"

"But that was my plan Master," Obi-Wan's eyes danced with mischief. "If I fell ill, I would have no choice but to forfeit my place in the competition and spare Eryn the humiliation of losing to me."

I attempted to keep my smile in check. "A Jedi shows not an inflated ego, my Padawan," I said sternly.

"Well, I am sparing her pain, therefore I am not acting solely for my own good," Obi-Wan reasoned, his smile growing.

The boy was really too much sometimes. A small chuckle escaped my lips. "She *is* a Jedi, Obi-Wan," I pointed out.

My apprentice cocked his head slightly, trying to get to the inevitable point before I made it. A moment later, his expression melted into disbelief and annoyance with himself. "There is no emotion," he cited from the code.

"Exactly young Padawan," I laughed quietly.

"I *knew* I should have approached that from another angle," he chastised himself.

I put my arm around the young man's shoulders. "Let's discuss the other ways you could have made your argument over breakfast, shall we?"

"Do we really have to?" Obi-Wan cringed, "I have Logic later today."

"Then I suppose you have something for class discussion," I said simply.

Obi-Wan groaned.

My Padawan rushed through breakfast as usual, eager to get to saber practice. At twenty years of age, my apprentice was already a formidable swordsman. His quick thinking and acrobatic reflexes predisposed him to coming up with new moves on the spot, getting him out of many tough predicaments. I relied on that ability many times on missions we were sent to – numerous times he has saved a life by seeing an out in a seemingly impossible situation. That morning, he couldn't wait to show me parts of his plan for the saber competition the following week where he was to compete two places above his age level.

The practice gym was empty when we arrived, most students being in class at that hour. We warmed up with some basic katas before moving into position to spar. I loved sparring with my student, for with the bond we shared, we could continually challenge one another. One thing about my apprentice – he could still challenge me. I had backed him into a corner with attack after attack, leaving Obi-Wan no option but to defend. With his back almost to the wall, I lifted my saber to deliver the final blow when he suddenly executed a flawless twist over my head, landing lightly on one foot behind me, the other leg wrapping around my own, throwing me to my back on the floor. Before I knew it, a blue saber was at my throat, held steady by my very centered Padawan.

Once I regained my ability to speak, I met focused hazel eyes with my own blue, filled with praise. "That was incredible Padawan," I said simply.

A small smile crept onto Obi-Wan's face. "Thank you Master," he replied graciously.

"Might I make a small suggestion?" I asked.

"Of course Master," Obi-Wan seemed stung thinking I thought he might not accept my advice.

Obi-Wan's attention flew to my right hand as I reignited my saber. He attempted to knock the weapon from my hand, but I brought my arm up hard, knocking his weapon aside, throwing myself to my left and getting back to my feet. "Always take care of the weapon before the opponent," I offered.

Obi-Wan bowed his head. "Thank you Master," he said softly.

I gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You did very well Obi-Wan," I said.

He looked up with a shy smile and nodded.

I had just finished my saber class with the first year initiates and was leaving the gym when Obi-Wan's Logic instructor came around the corner. "Master T'rell, a pleasure," I greeted him.

"As always, the same to you Master Jinn," the elder man replied.

"Did Obi-Wan offer our morning conversation to the class?" I inquired.

T'rell shook his head. "No, Obi-Wan didn't mention anything. As usual," he ended softly.

"What do you mean?" A Master is responsible for being teacher and mentor, but always takes on the added responsibility of being father to his apprentice as well. I was concerned by the look in Master T'rell's eyes.

"The boy is so bright Jinn," T'rell let out with a sigh, "but he never says a word in class. If I call on him, he always has something to say, but you can barely hear it. His responses are intriguing and original. They show incredibly deep thought, but he just never volunteers any of it."

I of course knew how intelligent Obi-Wan was, but I never knew he was so quiet in class. At home I had a hard time shutting him up! I looked up at Master T'rell again, and saw something unfinished in his face. "There is more?" I understood.

T'rell drew in a breath. "Does Obi-Wan write?" he asked.

The question took me by surprise. "Besides his papers? Not to my knowledge," I responded.

T'rell handed me a thin sheet. "This fell from his notebook today," he said quietly.

I took the sheet and began to read.

~_Black – no other color was meant to cover the form. The traditional absence of light, warmth and life – the signature of purest evil, the end, and yet the body regressed to a beginning. It was desperately clutched into the fetal position, rocked by violent spasms that should have dismembered it long ago, trembling in the aftershocks still strong enough to throw it off the table. He was no neonate in this moment – he had lived lifetimes of this single blink of time. His mind frantically clung to the body's roots, as if vainly trying to start over, to end this moment, these constant moments, and to begin anew. Yet it continued - the muscles, tendons, the very fibers of being and structure tightened to what should have been past the breaking point, then suddenly disintegrated leaving limbs that floundered, as if every bone had been shattered into fragments as numerous as those the mind had become._

_ The scream. Nothing should be able to produce that scream. With more strength than a quantum singularity it plowed through that living system until the outside atmosphere reached in with jagged, greedy claws and slowly…. steadily……… deliberately tore the auditory product of villainy from its roots. One could shudder as the rawness enveloped them, could feel the deaths of millions of cells along the throat as they shook and swelled with the intensity, shrunk away from the evil, shriveled, and let go, swept along the horrific cry to their deaths. _

_ Drought would have been a welcome characterization. The cracked, exposed pink of the throat was more barren than any lack of moisture could relate. One could almost see the slight clouds of dust as the screams emerged – not from disuse – far from that – these were the clouds of cell debris, the remains of what had kept moisture in that now mutilated lining. The throat and mouth took on the convulsive movements of the rest of the body, desperately attempting to restore coolness to the searing flesh. Constant strings of swallowing attempts would soon be replaced by the sickening gulps of air that resulted in his utter fatigue. Each sound a miniature moment of choking, a weak gurgling – the moisture his throat so frantically sought blocking his air intake, only to vanish when breathing and hurried swallowing resumed._

_ Oxygen. During the height of the convulsions his body rejected it, in the aftermath he fought for it, in the rare spaces between, the element struggled to enter the ravaged system and fill the deprived lungs. At the peak of the excruciatingly induced convulsions the screams left little time for breathing, the constricted muscles blocked out the life-giving element, and the heart struggled to gain control of a mind trying everything it could to make the darkness a place of peace. When they abated, his chest expanded to the point of explosion, striving vainly to fill itself with life, an instinct the mind couldn't squash. When the instinct receded into the mind, so did the oxygen intake recede as the tide. His breathing became shallow, slowing as much as it could until instinct forced itself back to the mind's surface._

_ His knuckles were whiter than pulsar light, fingers dug far into the flesh. Blood ran in intermittent rivulets down his palms, veering off at his wrist, then creating a waterfall to the ground. The depth and force of fingernails on pliable skin left bruises as black as the moment and cuts as jagged as the evil behind it. _

_ His face. Once colored with life the skin was now translucent, the paleness mapping out intricate networks of vessels, reluctantly moving blood. The mouth torn between harsh grimaces of pain, snarls of anger, and a rough, chapped mass that produced those horrific cries. Flaring nostrils vainly attempted to assist the mouth, hard lines around the eyes clenched so tightly that the eyelid was hardly a separate entity. During the pained peaks the familiar blue-gray of his eyes was imprisoned in the upper reaches of the skull leaving what should have been pure white. Even that tiny piece of anatomy wasn't left unscathed. The utter force of the convulsions destroyed tiny vessels, splattering the once immaculate surface with bloody stains. What was most frightening were those rare moments of consciousness when his eyes were open. The gray-blue that once appeared to be clear as an ocean, gentle as a sky, the looking glass through which a deeply compassionate soul lay, was polluted, overrun with vicious storm clouds, and cracked mercilessly. _

_ Sweat ran down the furrowed brow, the unseeing eyes, taking the place tears should occupy. Tears were not possible – they come from sparks of innocence, love, life. Those were long gone. Instead, the beads born of excruciating pain and unspeakable evil glimmered in the dim light, moving in a smooth, easy dance down the face. They reached the chin and hung there, twinkling like individual crystals on a chandelier before plunging to the death and darkness they were born from. If only they ended there. The laws of nature were harsh – the particles from those tiny products of pain would be reabsorbed by the atmosphere, would condense, and reappear, maybe not in this exact place or time, but they would return. _

_ A bone-shattering cry erupted from the very depths of his soul, his body desperately trying to make itself smaller. A single bead of agony was torn from the safety of his lower lip. As it plunged toward the ground, a spark of light caught it, reflecting pure evil. As it exploded into minute particles on the cold floor, Darkness shook his head, smiling – "Oh no, it will never be that easy."~_

I took a moment to regain my composure. "Obi-Wan wrote this?" I found myself breathless.

T'rell nodded slowly.

"How…." I couldn't finish voicing my thought. For my apprentice to write something this dark….I didn't even want to think about what that could mean.

"I don't know Master Jinn, but I believe you must speak with your Padawan," T'rell bowed slightly and continued down the corridor, leaving me to stare at the words that could destroy the peace I thought I had found.

Obi-Wan? I sent gently through the bond as I entered our quarters. I almost fell backwards at the shields I encountered. Obi-Wan was not merely shielding, he had built an impenetrable fortress around his thoughts and feelings. My apprentice had always been a natural at shielding, but even this was extreme. I headed for his room, but found it empty, along with the living area and the balcony. I was preparing to leave our apartment when a sudden, harsh intake of breath alerted me to my Padawan's presence. I moved to the 'fresher and gasped.

Obi-Wan was applying ointment to a fresh, angry saber burn. This was no quick scorch though. The burn went from his shoulder to his elbow, covering his entire upper arm, pus and blood struggling to overtake each other before finally relenting and mixing into a breeding ground for infection, slicking over the surface. Obi-Wan must have heard my gasp, for he cursed in five different languages under his breath.

"Obi-Wan! What in Force's name happened?" I cried, rushing to his side.

"It was just an accident Master," Obi-Wan's response was barely audible.

I grabbed a towel, running warm water over it before placing it firmly over the wound. Obi-Wan shuddered at the pressure. I looked up, waiting for answers, but Obi-Wan was staring at the far wall, the back of his head all I could see. I gently tucked his Padawan braid behind his ear and away from the wound before placing a hand under his chin and turning him to face me. I had to fight not to cry out.

The young man in front of me was not my Obi-Wan.

I couldn't recognize the face my eyes refused to leave. It was as if someone or something had pulled Obi-Wan from his body, leaving only an empty shell behind. He seemed to have shrunk into himself, standing slightly hunched, his eyes permanently focused on the floor. The energy, the light that always radiated from my apprentice was gone – he stood there, unmoving, his expression blank. His boyish features were scarred by deep lines of unspeakable pain, and his eyes, normally sparkling with laughter, were hollow. There was nothing in those expressive eyes – the emptiness, the unseeing stare….I was terrified. "Padawan, what happened?"

Obi-Wan remained silent for a few moments, but even in this state, he couldn't ignore his Master's inquiry. "Nothing Master," he replied.

I strained to hear my apprentice's response. "Obi-Wan, this is far from nothing. I saw your writing…..something is wrong….please, talk to me," I pleaded.

Obi-Wan's head flew up at the mention of the writing. "Master…." He began, worry creeping into his previously hollow tone.

"Obi-Wan, I know it is not the dark side I see here," I reassured him. My Padawan's fear had also been my own. However, seeing Obi-Wan as he was now, I knew I wasn't about to have my heart broken by another apprentice being taken by the dark side. Now, I wanted to know how my Obi-Wan had become acquainted with the darkness so I could bring light back to the empty man in front of me.

Obi-Wan let out a small breath. "Master, I….."

I slowly removed the towel from the wound. My eyes widened as I noticed numerous scars running up and down my student's arm. "Obi-Wan…." I waited for an answer.

"Accidents in practice," Obi-Wan said, his voice small.

"Obi-Wan, you are not one to make these kinds of mistakes in saber practice….tell me the truth," I said firmly.

Obi-Wan took a minute to release his fears into the Force. My pride at my apprentice's taking time to do so was cut short by the young man's reply to my question. "I did it."

"What?" I couldn't control the astonishment in my voice. I had thought Obi-Wan's reluctance to tell me was because someone had been abusing the Padawan….but this? "You did this?" my eyes returned to the oozing burn and the splotches of past injury.

Obi-Wan lowered his gaze and nodded.

I had to close my eyes for a moment, trying to imagine why my student would take a saber to his own arm. Even a brush with a powered down weapon in a sparring match was enough to make one yelp….this wound was from a fully charged saber bearing down on the skin for an extended period of time. "Why…." I didn't even know where to begin.

Obi-Wan just shook his head.

I drew in a breath and released my worry, confusion, and fear to the Force, feeling the soft tendrils of peace surround me, enabling me to finish gently bandaging my student's arm. Once completed, I took his good arm and led him to the healers.

Two hours later, Master healer Bren met with me in her office. "What happened?" I asked immediately.

She sighed and smiled gently. "You have a wonderful young man there Master Jinn," she offered.

"I know," I replied, pride in my voice, but the beginnings of tears in my eyes.

"Obi-Wan was very open with us, and although we don't have all the answers, we believe he is suffering from severe depression."

"Depression?" I couldn't believe it. "From what?"

"It doesn't have to be from something specific," Bren explained, "most likely, he has dealt with it for the majority of his life."

"The young man in the 'fresher earlier was not my apprentice….I've never seen that before," I said shakily.

"You have probably seen him only in his better moods, his better days. He obviously cares about you a great deal, so he most likely forced his depression down when around you. He knew how much pain it would cause you."

I struggled to process what I was hearing. "How could I not see this? How could I not see this overtaking my Padawan?"

"Many who deal with this for most of their life become very adept at hiding it from those around them. They can be outgoing and friendly around those they care about, sometimes they are shy and quiet around crowds, and when left to themselves, their true feelings come out. Sometimes those feelings are what you saw earlier today."

I recalled my conversation with Master T'rell only a few hours ago. I remembered his account of Obi-Wan's silence in class, of his brilliance…I had thought back to how outgoing he was at home. Everything was making sense, except….

"Why would he do such things to himself?"

Bren sighed. "We are taught that we only hurt ourselves when the inner pain is so great that we can't do anything else with it."

"What….what can we do, what can *I* do?" I asked.

"We would like your permission for Obi-Wan to stay for observation tonight while we begin him on a medication that will help him."

"Of course," I agreed immediately. "May I see him?"

"He is sleeping now," Bren said, "he was so exhausted after our conversation."

I nodded silently. "Tell him I'll see him in the morning."

"Of course," Bren replied, leading me to the door. "We're going to end this," she said confidently.

"Thank you," I whispered before heading to my quarters for a sleepless night.

At dawn's first light I was ready to go to the healer's wing, however I restrained myself until a more decent hour. Bren met me at the door with a smile. "We began the drug intravenously last night, and we are very pleased by the results."

I felt a glimmer of hope. "How so?"

"During our conversation this morning, there was very little hopelessness and no talk or actions geared towards self-mutilation."

"Incredible," I murmured. "Is he awake?"

"Yes, and ready to go home," Bren was beaming.

My eyes thanked her since my words couldn't get close. I walked into Obi-Wan's room and took a seat next to the bed. "How are you Padawan?" I asked softly.

Obi-Wan was sitting up, focused on the ceiling. He shifted his gaze slowly towards my direction. "All right Master," he answered quietly.

"Ready to go home?"

"Yes, please," he sounded so childlike. I helped him to his feet, careful of his bandaged arm, and led him back to our quarters.

The week that followed was a nightmare. I had my Obi-Wan back, and he was not hurting himself any further, however, things were certainly not better. I could see him trying to be upbeat, and his forced smiles and jokes never reached his eyes. They remained as hollow and empty as before. He had no energy and seemed to move about the day in a fog. When alone, he would complain to me about feeling hazy, not being able to think straight, not being able to multitask. He wasn't writing, he wasn't offering insightful responses in class, and he was having a hard time doing the one thing he always excelled at – his saber practice.

"I just can't think Master!" he shouted one evening after losing his weapon again while we sparred.

I sat next to him on the bed, sending comforting waves through the Force. I couldn't even be sure he received them, for his shields had never broken down since that evening in the 'fresher. "What are you feeling Obi-Wan?" I asked.

"Nothing!" I could feel him trembling, his fists clenched tight. "I'd rather feel the despair and the pain than this….I can't do anything!"

I moved to pull the young man to my chest, but he flinched and moved away. He began pacing the floor.

"Do you have any idea where it all comes from?" I inquired softly.

"No," he almost sobbed. "I don't know, and part of me wants it to just go away, but part of me knows that if I can harness it….I can do better in some things."

My heart ached watching my apprentice in such pain. "What do you need?"

"I don't know," he fell back to the bed, his head in his hands. "I need to be off these drugs," he finally said.

"Then we get you off," I replied immediately.

A ray of hope brightened those hazel eyes. "Really?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Obi-Wan, I have seen what that medication has done to you. You may not be hurting yourself on the outside, but the pain inside has increased."

Obi-Wan let out a sigh.

"Did you believe I couldn't see it?" I asked.

Obi-Wan didn't want to answer.

"Padawan, the pain that you identified with in your writing….let me help."

He looked up slowly.

"Talk to me Padawan….getting it out of your head is not enough. You need someone to understand it and work through it with you. Let me in."

Obi-Wan's eyes threatened to spill over as the possibility of an ending to his internal anguish appeared. A lifetime of habit was hard to break though.

"Padawan, drop your shields….it is all right to feel…..it is all right to let *me* feel. Let me in," I pleaded on the inside, yet my voice remained calming, soft.

Something finally snapped in my apprentice's mind. Something told him to let go and let the one person who could truly understand help him. His shields crumbled and I found myself awash in a torrent of pent-up thoughts, emotions, and memories. The tears began to flow, glorifying in their long-awaited release. I gathered my sobbing Padawan into my arms and rocked him gently. "We'll get through this my Padawan….we'll find your light again."

I continued to soothe my apprentice as the sky was cloaked in black and the first stars peeked from under the thick robes of darkness. I looked down at the precious gift the Force had given me, had given all of us. No longer would this star have to peek from under the cloak of darkness….Obi-Wan had not been in the hands of the dark side, but in the hands of a darkness not many are trained to see. His intelligence, his luminous spirit, the fact that he was made for something beyond the rest of us….it had all predisposed him to the evils of depression. Together, we would harness the gifts and dispel the curses, we would bring back Obi-Wan's spirit, his light, and I would learn how to recognize this darkness.

I kissed my Padawan's forehead gently before whispering, "I promise I'll never miss it again."


End file.
